That did make me laugh. “Hold on, you’ve been holding back?”
“You have no idea.” After a pause, she added, “I’m not one to celebrate anyone’s pain, but did you hear about the little bridesmaid who broke you and Robert up?”
“Technically, Robert—” I decided I wanted to hear the story more than I wanted to get into semantics. “What happened to her?”
“Oh, they were hot and heavy—in public too. Please, no one needed more proof that she was a whore. Your cousin Carol . . . well her mechanic’s son went to a party where she and Robert were practically having sex in front of everyone.”
“If Carol’s mechanic’s son saw it—that’s all the firsthand accounting I require.”
“I know your grandfather and I encouraged you to try to work things out with Robert, but Carol said he broke that little bridesmaid’s heart by hooking up with someone else the very next night. I call that karma.”
I do too. Why people thought a cheater would never cheat on them had always been a mystery to me.
To my grandfather, Grams said, “Yes, I called a llama because that’s how I’ve always handled situations. Parker, if you don’t get your hearing aid—”
“Grams, can I speak to Gramps?”
“Sure, but good luck.”
“Jade.” My grandfather didn’t sound old or confused. His voice was as strong as ever.
“Are you deliberately trying to annoy Grams?”
He chuckled. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
Leaning back in my chair, I laughed. That was what I loved about the two of them. No, they’d never been the type to read me a bedtime story, but when they bantered, they were a hoot. “I miss you.”
Without skipping a beat he asked, “Did you find a doctor yet? Don’t wait until you need one.”
It wasn’t what I yearned to hear from him, but maybe people weren’t meant to fit into the little boxes we thought they should. Maybe we could love each other despite that. “I will do that this week. I promise.”
“Good. Same thing with your car. Get ahead of the rust. And I’m not there to check your brakes or oil. You know you have to check both on a regular basis.”
Distance helped with perspective. At home, when he’d spoken to me that way, I’d thought he doubted my competence. I was beginning to think he was simply worried for me—no different than I had been for Kal. “I’ll find a good mechanic and stay on top of that. If you have a minute, I’d love to tell you about my job here.”
“Hang on, I’ll put you on speakerphone so we can both hear.”
“Oh, now you can hear?” my grandmother challenged.
I smiled. Although we’d spoken since I’d moved to Florida, those conversations had consisted mostly of them telling me that personal responsibility didn’t end just because I’d moved away and that I still had to pay them back. I’d impatiently told them that I was aware of that but also thought they might want to know that I was okay. The conversation hadn’t gone well after that.
This time, I refused to get defensive when they asked me if I thought there was any job security in my entry-level position. I assured them I was working my butt off to insure there would be. I told them about my volunteer work as well as the upcoming opportunity I had in Pensacola and what an honor it was to be invited. I left off how that had happened.
“Volunteering doesn’t pay the bills,” my grandmother said. “You’d be better off with a second job.”
I sighed. Old insecurities nipped at me. Why, why was nothing I achieved ever enough? Instead of asking that or ending the conversation, I decided to take a different approach. This time I’d focus on what they’d done right instead of wrong. For me—my sanity. “You raised me to take care of myself. I don’t worry if I can make this work, I know I can—I’m resilient like that.” Neither of them said anything and for a moment I thought perhaps the call had dropped. “Grams?”
Her voice was thick when she answered. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for you, Jade. You don’t know how much I prayed you’d be stronger than your mother was. She was our baby, and we did everything for her because we thought that’s what good parents did. She was soft because we failed her.”
Tears filled my eyes. Was that what they truly believed? “My mother was an adult when she had me. Her bad choices were hers, not yours.”
“You can say that, but you didn’t change her diapers. You didn’t pry her off your leg the first day of school. Addy was a beautiful soul. She was so kind, so smart. To see that drop away when she started doing drugs. And then to watch helplessly as she self-destructed. Pray you never bury one of your children, especially not due to what she chose. You’re never the same.”
I could only imagine—and I didn’t want to. “You didn’t fail her, and you definitely didn’t fail me.” I took a deep calming breath. “I have a good life and you gave that to me. Just because I moved away doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. There were simply better opportunities for me here and I love knowing that I’m making a difference.”
My grandfather cleared his throat. “Your grandmother and I were thinking about getting a condo down there. We’ve been putting aside the money you’ve been sending for your wedding. It’s enough for a deposit on one. We could be snowbirds. And if we put your name on it, the condo would be easy enough to leave to you when we . . . you know.”
I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes. “I love the idea of you getting a place down here, but I don’t need my name on it. You guys are going to be around for a long time.”
“Don’t argue. You can’t live day to day,” my grandmother stressed. “Financially this makes sense. It’ll gain equity while we’re alive and then you’ll have that when we’re gone. The house here isn’t worth much, but it’ll be yours too.”
Emotion clogged my throat. Although they didn’t say the words, what was this if not love?
“The wedding payments will cover the mortgage payments for now,” my grandfather said. “As long as you can afford to keep paying us back.”
“I can,” I said and inhaled deeply. “I’ll contact a Realtor.”
“No,” my grandfather said firmly. “First get yourself a primary doctor and a mechanic. Call us when that’s done and then we’ll talk about the condo.”
A little teary, but smiling, I said, “Okay.” I glanced out the window and was surprised that it was already dark. “I have to go, but I love you guys and I’ll call soon.”
“Not after eight. You know we like to go to bed early,” my grandmother said.
“I remember.”
“And have the tread on your tires checked,” my grandfather added. “I hear it rains a lot down there. You don’t want to hydroplane.”
“I will. Good night.”
They ended the call without responding, but that didn’t dim my smile. The current state of my life was a matter of perspective—and my perspective was changing in a positive direction. I’d never had a parent who wrote little notes of encouragement and stuck them in my lunchbox, but my grandparents had never been late to drop me off or pick me up.